


Joy To The World

by ariel_manto



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: a very early festive fic, and a bit dumb, because I didn't actually plan this at all, far too much leniency in regards to the Code, more sap than a christmas tree, really rather fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 21:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21434644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel_manto/pseuds/ariel_manto
Summary: an entirely un-angsty, quiet little out-of-season Yuletide fic inspired by Heathtrash telling me about Amanda Holden doing the Christmas Lights switch-on in London.
Relationships: Hardbroom/Pentangle (Worst Witch)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 36





	Joy To The World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heathtrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heathtrash/gifts).

> I did not proofread this, in an attempt to not back out of posting it. I apologise for mistakes, annoying repetitions of words, things that weren't as well developed as they might have been. I do not apologise for using too many adverbs, run-on sentences, using conjunctions to start a sentence or high levels of sap.
> 
> I do apologise for the title, which is awful and embarrassing and entirely the fault of girldressedninblack, who said I was a coward if I didn't use it.

There are many things in this world for which Hecate Hardbroom is willing to endure being outdoors for an extended period of time in the freezing cold. There are potion ingredients which need to be harvested after the first, third or even tenth frost night, some of which are too volatile for it to be safe to use warming spells on one’s hands or feet.

The moon cycles hardly go into hibernation, and rituals must be observed regardless of the weather. She wouldn’t dream of complaining about the demands of her Craft.

There are also, and have always been, a vast number of things she is willing to endure for the sake of Pippa Pentangle. This evening, these two areas happen to overlap

How the whole circus came about is something Pippa was a little bit hazy about, or perhaps Hecate was somewhat distracted at the time, but apparently Pentangle’s Academy has far closer ties with the Ordinary society than Cackle’s does, and especially than Hecate herself.

While the local village may not be familiar with the  _ exact _ nature of Pippa’s school, their relationship is clearly good enough that Pippa has been invited to turn on the Christmas lights in the square. 

When Pippa casually mentioned it a few weeks back, Hecate’s initial reaction had admittedly been rather dismissive. She knows little about how the solstice is celebrated by the Ordinaries, but judging from what she has experienced of their absolute butchery of Samhain, she is not particularly eager to find out.

But of course, again, there are a great many things she would happily endure to spend time with Pippa, even if that time is, for her part, spent on the sidelines, observing. It could even be considered educational, or at least that’s what Pippa had said. Cross-cultural studies. Hecate is still not sure if she would like to examine that particular crossing too closely.

But she does come. She turns down the invitation to meet beforehand, knowing Pippa will already be have far too much she needs to accomplish in far too short a time, too many other people to speak to. Anyway, she recognises the offer as an attempt to make her feel more comfortable in an unfamiliar environment, and while she does appreciate it, she needs to prove - to both of them - that she is capable of this.

So she arrives punctually (and if she paced the village streets for an hour or two beforehand, what of it?) at five PM, in a small square that is, astonishingly enough, nothing remotely like the gaudy spectacle she had envisioned. It is fairly tightly packed, and she finds a space at the back, not wanting to immerse herself too fully in something she still does not really know what to expect from.

  
  


Of course, it is an inspired choice. The moment Pippa comes on stage, and lifts her arms and the chatter dies down, Hecate realises that Pippa’s magic is not endemic to the witching population. Her glamour has never been dependent on spells, and neither has her ability to captivate her audience. She opens her mouth, and Hecate expects some sort of speech, perhaps something which will give her some sort of clue to what it is that fuels the Ordinary festive spirit. But instead, Pippa starts to sing. Or is it chanting? Suddenly Hecate is unsure, because at that moment the lights come one, and she certainly senses magic when she looks around, and more so when she looks up at the podium. But is it? Surely, even Pippa wouldn’t do  _ that? _

She pushes the questions away, and somehow it seems easier than usual. Which is  _ definitely _ odd. 

But there is so much else to focus on. So much, and yet, it all seems  _ consolidated,  _ as though the energy which may have been chaotic and overwhelming has instead been focused with one single objective, enveloping the little square and the people and, to her surprise, Hecate herself in a glow that is not all to do with the myriads of lightbulbs surrounding them. 

There doesn’t seem to be much more to Pippa’s stage appearance; after the lights have been lit, her chant, if that was what it was, turns into something which the audience seems to recognise, and she is joined by a choir of voices, accumulating into a dissonance Hecate had thought only Miss Bat’s first year classes capable of. There is a group of people coming onto the podium now, for some inexplicable reason all wearing some sort of fuzzy red night caps, and Hecate realises they represent an actual, organised choir. She starts on a quick, mildly blasphemous prayer that they will manage to steer the singing into a more harmonious territory, before realising that the cacophony is not as unpleasant as one might expect it to be.

-

There isn’t much to it, really. A quick twist of her hand, words spoken under her breath that really might have been anything. There is no way anyone could tell whether what happens is caused by the clouds that may have been gathering in the darkened sky, or by something else entirely.

But there is a definite shift in the air, familiar to most, before the white flakes start to fall.

And it is not acknowledged with words, but it is acknowledged all the same, by everyone in the square, Witch and Ordinary alike.

-

There is a familiar presence at her side, and she turns to look into Pippa’s face. Her cheeks are red, and she is wearing one of those bizarre red hats, and with the snowflakes gathering on it, and on her coat and in her eyelashes, there is something of a child about her, although a timeless, ageless one, both witch and human incarnate.

-

They start walking down a small street, the snow still falling and muffling the sounds coming from the square.

There is no need for Pippa to ask what Hecate thought, and there is no need for Hecate to comment, because it is all right there on her face, and for once she doesn’t mind.

They are walking close together and at some point Pippa takes Hecate’s hand in her own. She stops then, and turns so she’s facing her, grabbing Hecate’s other hand and looks reproachfully at her.

“Your hands are absolutely  _ freezing,  _ Hiccup. How long have you been walking around like this?”

Hecate smiles, letting the warmth of Pippa’s hands thaw her own admittedly chilled ones.

“Certain rituals should be observed without the buffer of warming spells, Pippa. I believe this might be one of those.”


End file.
